


The Moment I Knew

by SapphyreLily



Series: Cobwebbed Mirror [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, idk i wanted to write pretty dresses and chivalrous men, trans boy makki, victorian era-ish au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Please, please.
 Where are you? You said you'd be here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Taylor Swift's [The Moment I Knew](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXC7DMAm460), so I named this fic after the song.

Shining lights, sparkling stars, glittering gowns and dresses, swishing through the crowd.

Hanamaki stands in a corner of the room, nervously clutching a wineglass, trembling fingers causing tremors in the liquid inside. Punch, not wine, because he is a model daughter, the perfect example, and even though it is _his_ party, _his_ day, _his_ limelight – his time, his life, they belong to his parents, and he has to live it for them, tugged along on the strings they have tied him up with.

(Even though he’s told them a million times, _I'm a boy_ , they’d never accepted it, just pushed him along and forced him, forced him to be their perfect daughter, and what can he do, with society the way it is?)

He stares at the door, the closed wood of their ballroom, and waits, waits, _waits._

**_You said you’d be here._ **

An acquaintance – Keiko, from his dance lessons – approaches him to make small talk, and he obliges, but his eyes keep straying back to the firmly shut door, at the shiny knob that refuses to turn.

**_Where are you?_ **

Another girl comes up to him – someone he doesn’t know – and compliments his dress. He dips his head politely, softly replying that his mother picked the colour and material, and _she's such a good seamstress; look at this embroidery. It was done by her_.

And they ooh and ahh, but he couldn't care less, not about slippery silk and smooth satin, not about the jewelled tones of the embroidery on his corset. His eyes drift to the door again, and he stops himself from biting his lip just in time. He cannot show weakness, or nervousness.

 **_He will come. He_ ** **must _._**

But the door remains shut, its knob unmoving, even as the night wears on, as dusk turns to evening, as his hands clenched and unclench, the perfect cherry pink of his dress sliding through his fingers.

**_(Where are you, where are you? I picked this dress for you.)_ **

He can feel them staring, the sorority girls, their whispers hidden behind their hands, their glances sharp and darting. He knows what they’re saying, their words harsh and unforgiving, and his face burns with shame.

He looks desperately around the room, eyes sweeping from the table of treats to the mini orchestra in the corner, to the small dais which his parents will drag him up onto later, and declare his engagement.

(He doesn’t want to think about it, no matter how gorgeous his betrothed is.)

His gaze slides over the crowd, his breathing quickening when he sees them in their little groups, when he sees them standing with their partners. His heart aches, when he sees the men picking up hands and brushing kisses across them, the women hiding behind their hands and fans, twittering excitedly.

He takes a deep breath and bites on his lip, turning to run out of the ballroom, intent on getting to the restroom with no further incident.

Of course, no-one wants him to be alone.

He is followed by his ‘closest friends', and they pen him in, dripping sympathy and gushing condolences, asking, asking, asking, _what's wrong?_

And he doesn’t want to tell them, doesn’t want to give them anything to hold over him. But his mouth is traitorous, and a small sob escapes, and he turns to see himself in the small mirror, red lipstick scraped off, pink ringlets tumbling over his shoulder in a lovely mess.

_He said he’d be here._

And then there are clear drops slipping down his cheeks, splashing into the small basin, and the girls twitter more, but only one offers her handkerchief to dab at the hot tears, and he feels so hopeless, so broken, so angry and afraid because now they know.

(Now they know that the one who was supposed to save him didn’t turn up.)

They file out one by one, murmuring their false sympathies, until he is left with the one girl who offered him her handkerchief, but she turns to leave as well, with the faintest whisper of _I'm sorry._

There are tears on his cheeks again, and he dabs furiously at them, because he cannot afford to ruin what’s left of his makeup, but they keep coming and coming, and he’s just so _sad._

**_You said you’d be here._ **

He cleans up the best he can and returns to the ballroom.

There is enthusiastic clapping when he re-enters the room, and a loud chorus of 'Happy Birthday’ starts even as the crowd parts, and his betrothed emerges from it, offering his hand.

Hanamaki smiles, a small, weak thing, and places his hand in his.

His parents declare their betrothal as they stand on the dais, but his eyes are still fixed on the door, begging, begging, in his heart of hearts for it to **_open, please. Where are you?_**

Then he is being turned to face his betrothed, and slim fingers lift his chin, a chaste kiss placed on his lips. Polite claps echo around the ballroom even as he smiles tightly at the man whose name he is going to be forced to take.

Oikawa smiles, and asks him to dance.

Halfway through their waltz, he leans close, and whispers, _I'm sorry._

Hanamaki buries his face in his lapels, refusing to let the tears fall.

Because he knows, too.

Later, in the darkness of his room, his dress on the floor, unseen by the only one whom he wanted to see it, the phone rings, and he picks up, staring into the darkness.

_“Makki? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”_

He bites his lip, forcing a slow exhale, and whispers back, _I'm sorry too._

_“We'll always be best friends, even though I missed your betrothal party.”_

He takes a deep breath, nibbles on his ruined lipstick. _Yeah. We will._

_“Oikawa’s not so bad. He’ll treat you right.”_

Hanamaki chews harder on his lip, but his heart is shattering, smashed into tiny, tiny fragments.

_Yeah, he probably will._

There’s no guilt, no worry in his best friend’s tone. _“I'm sorry, again. Talk to you tomorrow?”_

 _Yeah._ He breathes deeply, sucking in air that isn't enough for his deprived lungs.

**_(I already knew.)_ **

**_(You can’t and won’t love a boy trapped in a girl’s body.)_ **

_See you tomorrow, Mattsun._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, but _someone_ had to suffer, and this time it's Makki.


End file.
